Author's infos

Introduction:

A jolly tale of school days

As Helen slowly walked down the seemingly endless corridor, it would be the smell of floor polish that she would remember most. That and the sunlight playing on the oaken panelled walls from the high windows. At the far end of the corridor was a single door. A large and imposing door, also in panelled oak, with a plaque in the centre and at eye level for the average 18-year-old schoolgirl. On the wall over the door was a clock, the hands of which stood at five minutes to three.
Helen arrived at the door and being of the average height for a sixth former was able to read with little difficulty, the inscription on the plaque. It identified the door as that to the study of the Headmaster. She glanced at the clock above and saw that a further minute had elapsed and that a mere four minutes remained before the hour would be reached.
She stood quite still outside the door praying that nobody who knew her would appear at the far end of the corridor. There was only one reason for a girl to be waiting outside that particular door on a Saturday afternoon with the clock approaching the top of an hour.
Nervously, she examined her dress. She was wearing a white shirt with her uniform tie neatly knotted; dark blue uniform pleated skirt; and underneath; she was sure that was satisfactory as well. With a louder than usual click, the clock hands above her reached three o’clock. Tentatively, she reached out and knocked on the door in front of her.
A voice she knew well instructed her to enter and she knew that she must obey. She entered the Headmaster’s study. She had been in this room before, and its elegance always impressed her. It was a large and spacious room; probably a friendly room in other circumstances. Against the far wall was a large open fireplace and she could imagine how cosy it would be in winter. But this was July and one of the warmest days of the year. The study was rectangular with a large window on the wall diagonally opposite the door by which she had entered. The top fanlights were open and the scents of summer were heavy in the air. The playing fields were such a short distance away and happy cries of those fortunate girls engaged in the more usual Saturday afternoon school activities were only too audible to the girl standing irresolutely midway between the door and the large imposing desk behind which was seated the owner and sole occupant of this study.
When she entered the room he had been writing and as she walked through the door, he had not even looked at her. He did so now, carefully replacing the top on his fountain pen before carefully setting it down on the green leather padded insert to his large imposing desk. He leaned back in his swivel chair of deep burgundy red leather, and looked at her.
‘Well, Helen’ he said, ‘is this the way you like to spend your Saturday afternoons?’
‘No Sir’ Helen replied with a catch in her voice, knowing full well how the next part of the scene would be played.
He leaned forward in his chair and placed his hands on the desk and got to his feet, ‘The solution is in your own hands; you know full well why you are here and what happens next’.
The girl lowered her gaze and looked at the carpet and mumbled ‘Yes Sir’.

The Headmaster pointed to the area in front of his desk and Helen walked forward to it. ‘Bend over Helen and touch your toes if you please’ he ordered as he walked over to a large wooden cupboard against the wall opposite the fireplace.
As he opened the cupboard doors, Helen bent over and grasped her ankles. She knew what was in the cupboard. The Headmaster looked at the array of canes and tawses hanging neatly on hooks on the internal sides of the cupboard and selected the Senior School Cane. This was an extremely pliant length of bamboo just over three feet in length with some tape wound around the thicker end a couple of inches from the tip. He held the cane between his hands and flexed it into an arc and then sliced it through the air to with a sound that made Helen some fifteen feet away clench her buttocks involuntarily. He turned away from the cupboard and stared at the sight in front of him.
School uniform dress code directed that sixth form girls should wear black tights with their dark blue skirts and white tops. They should also wear dark navy blue standard school knickers. There was nothing in the dress code that made any mention of black satin thongs and lace top hold up stockings and as the action of bending over had caused the skirt to ride up Helen’s thighs it was all too obvious what indiscretions she was wearing underneath. He stared in disbelief and sliced the cane down a second time which had a curious effect upon Helen who was watching him through her open legs. She parted her legs and pushed her bottom out towards him.
I shall not cane you over those garments’ he said and suiting actions to his words, he first pulled her skirt over her back and then hooked his fingers under the waistband of her thong and pulled the garment down to her mid thigh
‘I had intended giving you six strokes but this piece of bravado has earned you an extra four’.
Helen caught her breath but pushed her bottom out even more and waited for the onslaught. She didn’t have long to wait. Out of the corner of her eye from her inverted position, she saw his arm go up and then felt the searing bite of the cane as it blazed across the centre of her bottom. The second bit deeply into her backside an inch below the first and the third cut an inch above it. He paused in his labours and watched as three angry red lines appeared across the girl’s rump. He watched as her hands came behind and held a cheek apiece, and started to knead the smarting flesh.
‘If you would like to be caned on the hands as well, we’ll do that in the conventional way; if not keep them away from your bottom’
Her hands flew back to her ankles as the fourth stroke caught her mainly on her right buttock and thigh as the cane tip lashed around the side. She yelped as the fifth caught the sensitive area where her bottom met her thighs, but screamed in pain as the sixth stroke landed squarely across the backs of her thighs. She clenched and unclenched her bottom cheeks as number seven and eight arrived causing her to lurch forward and into this maelstrom of agony the final two strokes targeted home; number nine diagonally on one side and ten as expected by far the hardest, diagonally on the other, the final two forming an ‘X’ in raised red welts over her throbbing bottom.
She knew better than to stand until ordered to do so and anyway strongly suspected that this would not be what he would order her to do. She was right. As she remained in position, legs apart and backside on fire she was very well aware what he would be able to see from where he was standing. She was very much aware how wet she was and how obvious it must be to him.
And it was obvious to him because he was unzipping his fly and dropping his trousers to the floor. She shuffled forward to hold onto the shelving of the bookcase while he rubbed his erection between her legs, the end already glistening with little drops and then she felt him enter her and shortly afterwards they enjoyed a mutual and shared inner explosion. When it was over and they were resting on the settee close to the dormant fireplace, he seated and she lying on her stomach over his lap, he reached down and kissed the back of her neck and murmured into her ear
‘If you don’t apply for a teaching post at this school, when you qualify next year, Helen, then you really WILL find out what corporal punishment is all about.’
Helen rubbed her crotch seductively against his, feeling him stirring uncontrollably again, and whispered,
‘Yes Sir!’

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